Cry Wolf
by SpyGirl1969
Summary: When Lee was a freshman agent, he took down a Russian intelligence operative. Now, ten years later, someone wants revenge...


Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever owned, Scarecrow and Mrs. King. They belong exclusively to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions.

Timeline: Late Season One but not connected to any episode.

Rating: PG-13

_**Cry Wolf**_

"**_Vindicta Nemo magis gaudet quam foemina."_**

(Translation: No one rejoices more in revenge than woman.)

- Decimus Junius Juvenal, Source: _Satires (XIII, 191)_

Sergei Gusyeva and Yuri Komar parked their dark, nondescript car down the block from the silver Porsche and shut off the motor and headlights.

"I do not understand, Sergei," Yuri complained. "Why does Anya not simply kill this King woman? Why the games? Why the mystery?"

Sergei glanced at his companion and shrugged. "She is a woman," he said, as if that explained everything. "She wishes to make sure that when she strikes, she will cut to the great Scarecrow's heart. Do not question her; she is paying us well for our cooperation."

"Da," Yuri agreed, "she is paying us well. I still do not think it wise that she--"

Sergei held up a hand impatiently. "We are not getting paid to think. We are getting paid to do as we are told. Right now we are observing Scarecrow, making sure that Mrs. King is the best target. The person closest to him. The person he would most hate to lose."

Yuri nodded slowly. "Well, he comes here three times this week. Late at night, from across town where he lives. Surely she means very much to him, this King woman."

"Yes."

As they watched, Lee Stetson came around the side of the house, a smile on his face. He tossed his keys in the air and caught them and then headed for his car. He got in and drove away, but they didn't bother to follow him.

"Yes," Sergei repeated, a grim smile on his bearded face. "Let us go. Anya is waiting for us. She wishes to put her plan into action very soon now."

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Lee Stetson glanced over at Amanda King's stony face. She wouldn't even look at him, so he knew she was really upset. He wasn't about to apologize, however; he had specifically told her to wait in the car, and she had chosen to disregard that order and follow him into a potentially dangerous situation.

"Amanda," he said with a sigh. "You need to realize that what I do is very dangerous. I wouldn't have even had you with me if I'd had any idea the meet would go bad. But when things like this happen, you have got to listen to me and do as I say!"

Her saw her glance at him but it was fleeting. "I know, but Lee, if I hadn't come in there, they would have--"

"It doesn't matter, Amanda. I would have handled it just fine." Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he added, "What do you think I would have done if you weren't here? Huh?" He slapped his hand against the steering wheel for emphasis and saw her jump. "There was a time, Amanda King, when you weren't around to _protect me_. _I'm_ the trained agent. _You're_ the civilian aide. Who do you think is more equipped to--"

She interrupted him, raising her voice to be heard above his. "In this case, Lee, you were outnumbered and deweaponed. You--"

"Deweaponed? That's not even a word, Amanda!" He turned on to her street and parked a few doors down from her house.

"So what? They took your gun, Lee. They were going to shoot you. If I hadn't shown up and--"

"Interfered," he supplied snappishly.

She drew in a breath. "Fine. _Interfered._ You would have been shot."

"You don't know that," he began.

"You just can't admit that I was helpful, can you?" she shot back. "Heaven forbid you say 'thank you' once in a while."

"Thank you?" he repeated incredulously. "_Thank you_? You very nearly ruined the whole operation!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. Opening the door, she unfolded herself to a standing position outside his tiny car. "Well. You can just tell Mr. Melrose that I won't be _ruining_ any more operations."

"Oh, come on, Amanda--"

Any further comment was cut off when she slammed the door of the Porsche and started hurrying down the sidewalk to her house.

"Great," he muttered, peeling out and away from the curb, not caring what her nosy neighbors might think.

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Anya Demeter studied an old black and white photo of Lee Stetson, letting the familiar rage fill and consume her. He had put a bullet in the forehead of her partner, Dmitri Kominov, almost a decade ago. She had been thrown into prison to rot, where she had plenty of time to plot her revenge.

Her comrades, Sergei and Yuri, thought she was crazy to go to such elaborate measures – after all, it was just a means to an end. But she wanted to toy with Stetson, to make him blame himself for not realizing sooner what was happening.

Sergei had found out that the King woman wasn't an agent, but that didn't matter. She'd been gathering information from her contacts all over DC, and the word was that the King woman meant a great deal to Stetson. Depriving him of her would leave a scar almost as deep as the one he'd inflicted on her when he killed Dmitri in cold blood. Especially as Stetson had previously lost two partners already . . . oh, yes, she knew all about him.

Anya set down Lee Stetson's photo. He was a very good-looking man, but she shoved the thought out of her mind. She would enjoy toying with him before sticking the proverbial knife in his back.

Absently she picked up the King woman's photo. She was beautiful, in an understated way. She appeared to be the typical suburban single mother – her wholesome and – as the Americans would say – 'girl-next-door good looks' seemed deceptively innocent. But in the depths of her eyes Anya detected a cleverness and a hidden wealth of experience.

Sergei and Yuri burst into the room. Sometimes they reminded her of a couple of circus clowns. "So," she addressed them. "Are we ready to begin?"

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Lee listened to the phone ring six, seven, eight times before it was picked up by a breathless Dotty West. "Hello?"

"Ah, hello. Is Amanda there, please?" Lee asked.

"Yes, she is," Dotty answered. "In fact, I don't know why that girl didn't answer the phone. Hold on just a moment, please."

He waited a few minutes and could hear voices in the background, realizing it was Amanda's two sons, Phillip and Jamie.

Phillip said, "You'd better hurry up and pack, dorkbreath, or Mom's gonna be even madder."

"Why's she so upset, anyway?" the younger boy, Jamie, asked. "She's been in a bad mood ever since she got home."

"I don't know," Phillip answered.

The phone was picked up and Amanda said, "Hello?"

"Amanda," Lee said warily. "Listen, I'm glad I caught you. I didn't like the way we left things earlier today. I just--"

"Listen, Lee," she said offhandedly. "I don't really have time to talk right now, okay? I have to help the boys pack their bags because they're leaving with Mother in less than an hour. I've gotta go. Thanks for calling, though."

Her voice was replaced with the unpleasant dial tone. He hung up the phone and snorted in disgust. That's what he got for apologizing! Oh, well, he'd give her a little more time to cool off and then he'd stop by her house this evening. She'd just informed him that she would be all alone, as her mother and sons were leaving for some kind of weekend outing. He wouldn't have to sneak around as much, and he'd have time to explain to her how important it was for her to obey orders.

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Across town, Anya addressed Sergei and Yuri. "Everything is in place? You know what to do?"

"Of course," Sergei assured her. "You need not worry, Anya. Things will go according to your plan. Trust us."

She smiled, a slow, catlike grin. "I do trust you. And if it turns out that I cannot trust you, you will wind up joining Mrs. King. Do I make myself clear?"

Sergei visibly bristled at her words, but nodded. "There will be no need of that, Anya."

Nodding her approval, she added, "Just remember to whom you answer and from whom your paycheck is coming."

This time there was a distinct edge to his voice as he replied evenly, "Da! Enough, Anya. We are not your minions, and you are not our ruler."

Arching an eyebrow, she said nothing more. Turning on her heel, she left the room.

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Lee's phone rang just as he was about to head out the door to make his way to Amanda's neighborhood. It surprised him that he was doing so on a Friday night, when he would normally have a date, but he felt bad about how he'd left things with Amanda, and knew she was still upset with him.

"Hello?" he said into the mouthpiece.

"Lee? I think someone is outside my house," Amanda whispered. "I have this feeling, and I keep hearing noises –"

"Go upstairs," he said. "I'll be right there. If you hear anything else, call the police. I'm leaving now."

Hanging up, he wondered if he ought to have told her to go ahead and call the police, and hoped nothing was seriously wrong. Within three minutes, he was on the road, driving as fast as he dared.

When at last he pulled up in front of her house, he noticed that all the lights were out. A sense of foreboding gripped him and he raced up to her house. Not even the kitchen lights were on, and neither was the digital clock on the microwave. Her power was out.

He circled her house but didn't find anything amiss except the knocked-over garbage can; a cat could have caused that commotion. Amanda wasn't usually so jittery. Walking back out to the street, he didn't see any unusual or conspicuous vehicles anywhere. He headed back to the kitchen door.

Knocking, he called, "Amanda?"

Seconds later, he saw the movement of a flashlight. She opened the door and let him in. "Thank you for coming," she said, her eyes wide. "I know someone was out there. I could just feel myself being watched, Lee. It's not the first time, either. I've . . . I've had this feeling for a couple weeks, off and on."

Lee said, "There wasn't anything wrong outside. Do you want me to check in here?"

She shook her head. "No, but could you check the breaker?"

"Where is it?"

She told him where he could locate it and he went outside again, and easily found the breaker box. Nothing seemed to be cut or damaged; she must have blown a breaker, or maybe it was a fluke; all her neighbors appeared to have power, especially Mrs. Gilstrap, who had the television volume at maximum capacity. Lee could clearly hear Pat Sajak instructing Vanna White to reveal all of the R's in the puzzle.

He flipped each of the breaker switches off, then on again, and the lights came back on inside Amanda's house.

Going back inside, he sighed. "Well, I don't know where your 'feeling' came from, but there's nothing wrong out there." He could hear the slight irritation in his own voice and wondered at it; hadn't he been coming over here, anyway?

Amanda had heard it too, and shook her head contritely. "I'm sorry," she said, ducking her head to look down at her feet. "I shouldn't view you as my own personal policeman. I just couldn't get over the strange feeling that I was being spied on."

Lee had a vague sense that Amanda's 'feelings' weren't often wrong, but he jumped on the chance to vent his frustration on her. "Well, next time you have that _feeling_, Amanda, make sure it's backed up by something solid, will you? I could have had a date tonight!"

She visibly rankled. "Something solid? Like what, Lee? A knife in my back?"

"Oh, drop the melodramatics, will ya?" he nearly shouted. What was he doing? He had been on his way over here to smooth things over and now here he was, arguing with her! What was it about her that got his hackles up, anyway?

"Melodramatics?" she repeated, her voice incredulous. "I can see that I really pulled you away from a special evening, Lee, I'm so sorry. What's her name tonight? Barbie? Trix? Princess?"

"What are you trying to say?" he asked heatedly. "Never mind. Next time you decide to cry wolf, Amanda, cry to someone else!"

"Ooh!" she replied angrily, all but pushing him out the back door. "Don't worry; you'll be the last person I call!"

He stormed out, hearing her back door slam so hard, it rattled her window panes. "I have _never_ dated a Trix," he muttered. He didn't understand why, but Amanda's opinion of his dating habits really got under his skin.

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"He's gone," Yuri stated the obvious, watching the silver Porche drive away.

Sergei nodded. "Yes. We will go now."

"Will we cut the power again?" Yuri asked.

"Nyet," Sergei said. "She will suspect. Already she is on edge; you knocked over the garbage can and she called Scarecrow. It is a good thing we heard her making the call, comrade. He could have ruined everything if he had surprised us. No, we will have to proceed without further tampering of her power."

The two men climbed over the fence and headed quietly across the street to Amanda's house. "We will go to the back door, as Scarecrow did. Perhaps she will think he has come back."

"Good thinking, Sergei."

They snuck around to the back of the house, peering into the windows as they went. Keeping low, they crept silently. Yuri widely skirted the garbage cans, determined not to crash into them again. Sergei gripped the chloroformed cloth in his left hand.

"Leave this to me," Sergei whispered as they neared the back door.

He rapped on the back door in the same fashion he'd observed Scarecrow doing in the prior weeks. After a moment, Amanda King entered the kitchen and crossed to the door. She opened it without hesitation and stepped outside. "Lee?"

Sergei stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides and covering her nose and mouth with the rag. "I'm so very sorry, Mrs. King," he whispered as she struggled weakly for a few seconds and then sagged against him.

To Yuri, he said, "Go get the car. I will bring her out when I hear you pull into the driveway. Hurry!"

Moments later, he heard the sedan pull up. Gathering Mrs. King into his arms, he was surprised at how light she was, even in dead weight. Yuri had gotten out of the car to open the back door, and he signaled that all was clear. Sergei walked out to the waiting vehicle and placed the woman into the back seat.

Closing the door, he got back into the front seat. "Let's go," he said grimly.

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Lee was nearly home. The longer he drove, however, the angrier at himself he became. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd made Amanda feel like she had wasted his time, and the truth was, he didn't want her to feel that way. If she felt she was in danger, she might just be. Grudgingly, he recalled all the times when her intuition had been right on the mark.

What if it were right on the mark now? What if someone were watching her? What if they had seen him and hidden, or run away? What if she was in danger, right now, all because of him?

No . . . She was fine. _His_ intuition was that she was just jumpy for some reason. He was tired, he wanted a drink, and he hadn't eaten dinner. Pulling into his parking space, he decided to give her a call later, just to check on her. She probably wouldn't answer the phone; by now she must hate him. The thought made him feel a bit sick, but he got onto the elevator and headed up to his apartment anyway.

Amanda King would have to learn that crying wolf would get her nowhere, especially with Lee Stetson.

He found some leftover pizza in the fridge – it was only three days old; it wouldn't kill him. He washed it down with two glasses of red wine while he watched the latest episode of his favorite crime drama. By the time the pizza box and his wine glass were empty and the closing music of the television show was playing, he was already half asleep.

Amanda would cool off over the weekend and he'd see her on Monday. If he knew her, she'd probably be back to her cheerful self, and not even mention their argument. Arguments, he corrected himself mentally.

His eyes were closing of their own volition. There was no need to call her tonight. She would have called him if something else had happened, right? He stumbled to the kitchen, threw the pizza box away, put his wine glass in the sink, and made his way to the bedroom.

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"Good morning, Mrs. King," Sergei said.

She put her hand to her head; he knew she had a headache from the chloroform. He may have used a bit too much, but he hadn't wanted to risk her waking up in the car.

"Where am I?" she asked, trying to sit up on the narrow cot.

"That is none of your concern," he informed her. "If you cooperate, this will go much smoother for you. I strongly advise you to cooperate."

"What is it you want me to do?" she asked, wariness evident in her voice.

He shrugged. "Just what you're told."

The door opened and Anya Demeter entered. "Welcome, Mrs. King. I trust you're comfortable."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

Anya advanced into the room. "You're going to make a phone call to your friend, Scarecrow."

"I – I don't know who you're talking about," Amanda said.

"Oh, I think you do," Anya said, snapping her fingers at Sergei, who scowled at her but brought over the phone. "I'll even dial his number for you. When he answers, I want you to tell him you're being held at the old cannery on Fourth Street. Tell him you'll be killed unless he comes to you."

Amanda's eyes narrowed. "And what, you're going to kill him?"

Anya smiled. "As much fun as that would be, no. In fact, we are not at the cannery on Fourth Street."

"Then why--" Amanda began. "I don't understand."

"It is not for you to understand," the other woman said, smoothing down her auburn hair. "It is for you to obey."

"And if I don't?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Anya said, "Then you will meet your fate sooner than planned."

Nodding, Amanda held out a hand for the phone.

"No funny business, Amanda," Anya said, dialing the phone and handing it to Amanda. "Or I might have to scar that pretty face of yours."

Amanda took the phone, feeling sick as she listened to the ringing on Lee's end. "Hello?"

He sounded as though she'd woken him, and vaguely she wondered what time it was. There were no windows in this plain, tiny room.

"Lee?" she began, but her voice cracked and was barely audible.

"Hello?" he repeated groggily.

"Lee, it's Amanda," she tried again, licking her lips. "I, uh . . . Someone grabbed me and I'm being held at the old cannery on Fourth Street." She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Anya shook her head slowly to warn Amanda against attempting to deceive them.

"What? Amanda, who has you?"

"I don't know."

"I'm coming!" The connection was broken, and Anya took the phone, hanging it up.

"Very good, Mrs. King," she commended. "Very good."

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Lee knew he should have called for backup, but it was too late now. Gun drawn, he hugged the side of the building that had at one time been a huge cannery employing hundreds of workers.

On the way, he had mentally criticized himself for not going back to Amanda's house last night. As usual, she had been right, and he hadn't listened to her. In fact, he had demeaned her, and scolded her for bothering him, even though he had been on his way to see her in the first place.

Shaking his head to clear it, he sidled up to the open door and quickly entered the cavernous building. It appeared to be deserted; the empty hollowness was far too quiet; somewhere he could hear something – probably a rat – scurrying around. This suspicion was confirmed a moment later when he saw a sleek black cat stalking around in the far reaches of the warehouse. It stared at him, its green eyes glowing, a small rodent hanging by its tail from the feline's mouth.

Lee advanced into the darkness and called Amanda's name. There was no answer. A cursory glance around revealed that there was no one in the main part of the cannery. Glancing up he saw dark offices, long out of use.

Lee cautiously made his way up the rickety stairs and crept along to the first door. Throwing it open, he saw a crumpled form in the corner of the room. Flipping on the flickering light, he saw that it was a transient. The old man sat up, grabbing his whiskey bottle and clutching it to his chest.

"Don't shoot, mister!" he implored. "I ain't livin' in here, I'm jest here for a day or two. I'll leave if that's what you want, but don't shoot me or take me to jail!"

Lee frowned. "Have you heard anything? Has anyone else been here? I'm looking for a lady. Tall, slender, brown hair and eyes?"

The bum stared at Lee as if he were turning green and sprouting horns. "Ain't been no one here but me an' my cat, Fiddles. Fiddles?" He looked around the room, squinting.

"I think your cat's downstairs," Lee offered. "So you're sure no one's been here, huh?"

"I'm positive, mister," the old man said with clarity.

Lee handed him a twenty. "Thank, pops," he said.

Smiling a toothless smile, the transient replied, "Any time, sonny!"

When he got to his car there was a note stuck under his windshield wiper blade which read "Round one to me, Scarecrow," in Russian. Round one? What was this, some kind of game? Looking around, he saw no one. Whoever had left the note was long gone by now.

He drove around the other warehouses, searching for a vehicle. He searched a few more places but had a sinking feeling that Amanda was nowhere in these decrepit buildings.

Frustrated, Lee ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what was going on. He shook his head and hurried back to his car; if she could, she would call him again. It was Saturday; he was supposed to have the day off, but he wanted to let Billy know what was going on. If Amanda called his apartment and couldn't reach him there, the Agency was the next place she'd try to contact him.

Swearing to himself again, he started his car and headed for the Agency, heedless of the speed limit. Filled with self-recrimination, he knew he'd never forgive himself if he didn't find Amanda.

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"Think, Scarecrow," Billy admonished. "Who could possibly have Amanda?"

Francine rushed into Billy's office. "Okay, I've got a list of every Russian agent that's been released from prison in the last year, if we can assume it's someone who's even been in prison until recently."

"Let me see," Lee said, taking the paper from her hand. "I don't recognize any of these names as anyone I've had personal dealings with . . . Wait a minute. Anya Demeter?" He frowned in thought. "Who did she work with?"

Billy glanced down at his desk blotter as if it would provide the answer. "Anya Demeter . . . didn't she work with Dmitri Kominov?"

Recognition dawned on Lee's face. "That's right. I shot him; I had no choice. He was about to kill Dorothy. It was one time I didn't fail her."

"You didn't fail Dorothy at all, Scarecrow," Billy said emphatically. "You did all you could, and you're doing all you can for Amanda, too."

"I just hope it's enough," Lee replied.

The phone on Billy's desk rang shrilly and he grabbed it. "Melrose here . . . Amanda! Where are you? Yes, he's here. Hold on."

Lee took the phone, nearly dropping it in his haste. "Amanda! Where are you?"

She sounded nervous yet relatively calm as she said, "I'm supposed to tell you that I'm at Rock Creek Park."

He caught on to her phrasing right away. But you're _not_, are you?" he asked, holding his breath.

"That's right," she agreed, relief evident in her voice. The line was disconnected, and he hung up. To Billy and Francine he said, "Whoever has Amanda is instructing her to give us false locations." He related the conversation to them.

"Damn it!" Billy murmured. "Lee, If it _is _Anya Demeter . . . Do you have any idea where she might be holding Amanda?"

Lee felt lost and frustrated as he tried to think where he might find Anya Demeter, if she were even the one who was holding Amanda. The whole situation seemed hopeless, but he knew Amanda was counting on him. Or at least he _hoped_ she still had faith in him; after the things he'd said to her last night, he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

"No," he admitted, raking his fingers across his scalp. Looking at Francine he said, "Have them set up a trace. If she calls again, we need to keep her on the line as long as possible."

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"Very good, Mrs. King," Anya said. "By now Scarecrow will be racing to Rock Creek Park on another wild goose chase. I'm enjoying this immensely, sending him all over the place searching for you, thinking he has a shred of hope to save you, when of course, he doesn't."

Amanda's eyes widened. "Oh, yes, Mrs. King," Anya remarked calmly. "You will die. You must die."

"Why? What did I do?" Amanda asked.

"I had a partner, once upon a time, as your fairy tales always say. Dmitri was more than a partner to me; he was the love of my life. Your Scarecrow brought him down before my eyes. Now, I want Lee Stetson to suffer the same pain as I have suffered all these years."

"But I'm not Lee's partner," Amanda replied insistently. "I'm just a civilian helper. And we're not romantically involved."

"But you are friends," Anya cut in. "You probably don't realize that I've been watching you and Stetson for weeks now, plotting my revenge. He panics when you're in danger or when he can't find you. He feels responsible for you. Oh, yes, your demise will cause him distress, make no mistake. If nothing else, guilt that because of him, two little boys will be left alone and motherless."

"And you can live with that?" Amanda asked her. "You can live with the fact that your desire for revenge ultimately affects two children for the rest of their lives? It won't bring Dmitri back, you know."

"No, but it will cause Lee Stetson pain and guilt and loss. All other casualties are worth the end result," she replied defensively, her chin jutting out stubbornly.

Amanda made no reply. Anya left the room, signaling for Sergei to follow her. He appeared reluctant to leave, but she said sharply, "Let's go."

Sergei cast a look in Amanda's direction, but didn't say anything. Closing the door behind him, he locked it and followed Anya down the hall.

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"Lee, I still think you should take backup," Billy stated, watching the younger man with concern.

Lee shook his head. "I don't think anyone will be there. The only reason I'm even going is in case they're keeping tabs on me. What if I don't go, and that's their trigger to harm Amanda? Huh?"

Billy sighed, knowing Lee was right. "Fine. But be careful, and call if anything seems suspicious. Oh, I have Francine checking out Amanda's house, to see if there's any clue as to who took her."

"Good idea," Lee said. "I'll see you later."

"Lee," Billy stalled him at the door.

"Yeah," he said, turning.

"We'll find Amanda."

"I hope so," Lee replied grimly.

Lee closed the section chief's door and looked around the bullpen. Several people looked away hastily and pretended to be absorbed in their work. He looked over to where Amanda usually sat, typing or alphabetizing files, wishing she were there right now.

Walking toward the elevator, he sighed. If Amanda were killed, he'd be to blame. She had two young sons who needed her. Her mother would be devastated; she didn't even know Amanda was involved – however peripherally – in espionage.

An hour later, he left Rock Creek Park and started making the rounds, asking his contacts if they'd seen or heard anything about Anya Demeter being in town. He hit paydirt with his third stop.

Lana brushed a strand of golden blonde hair behind her ear. "Yes, she's here," she confided. "Her uncle is one of my regular clients when he's in the country. He's a double agent, on our side, but his niece – Anya – is trouble. He thinks she's up to something."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?" Lee asked urgently.

Lana tilted her head in thought. "There's an old, large house a few miles from the Russian Embassy, in a neighborhood that's all but abandoned. In fact, most of the homes are condemned. At one time it was used as a safe house, but not anymore. She may have heard about it from one of her sources. It's the only white house on the block."

"I know the area," Lee said. "Thanks, Lana."

She nodded. "I hope you find Mrs. King."

"So do I."

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Anya stood outside the door of Amanda's room. She set down the tray of food she'd prepared — a clear broth laced with strychnine. Shaking a healthy dose of pepper and salt into the bowl, she hoped the seasoning would mask the bitter taste.

It had been half an hour since she forced Amanda to make her third and final phone call; Scarecrow hadn't been there so Amanda ended up giving her supervisor a phony location. By now they were surely on to the fact that Amanda was not in the places she told them; however, they would check anyway. It was a game of cat and mouse, and Anya was the cat.

Opening the door, she took in the bowl of clear broth and glass of water, setting it down on the one small table in the room. "Drink this," she said. "It is soup."

Ignoring the bowl, Amanda tried to get the other woman to talk. "Why all this elaborate deception? Why the games?" Amanda asked, her voice steady.

Anya shook her head. "You don't understand, Mrs. King," she replied coldly. "You don't know what it is to lose someone you love. Oh, Scarecrow may not go so far as to actually love you – not in the romantic sense of the word, anyway – but for a man who is so distant and aloof, he has let you get remarkably close. I could kill one of his lovers, yes, but they are only women with whom he has had a fleeting physical connection, nothing more. No, you will do nicely in my plot of revenge." Her hand on the doorknob, she started to leave the room.

Amanda nodded toward the bowl of tepid soup. "You can take that away," she said. "I'm not hungry."

Turning, Anya retorted, "You will drink it, or you will suffer consequences you do not wish to imagine." Narrowing her eyes, she picked up the bowl and walked over to Amanda, handing it to her.

"Drink," she said, as there was no spoon.

After a moment, Amanda took the bowl into her hands and swallowed down part of the broth. "Ugh. No more."

"Finish it."

Hurriedly she obeyed, then handed the bowl back. "There. Satisfied?"

"Oh, yes. Very." Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she crossed the room and exited it, locking the door behind her.

Half an hour later, she stopped outside the door and listened. She could hear that the King woman was very ill. Anya knew that soon the spasms would set in – the agonizing spasms that made one feel as though she were in her final death throes. Amanda King would only wish she were dead . . .

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Lee found a pay phone and called Billy. "Anything?"

Billy cleared his throat. "Amanda called with another phony location. I don't like this, Lee. I sent an agent to check it out, but I have the feeling that the clock is ticking. She – she didn't sound too good, Lee."

"I have a lead, Billy," Lee said, fighting the urge to panic. "I'm on my way to check it out, but send a team, will you?" He gave Billy the location, and started to hang up.

"Lee, I want you to wait for backup," Billy ordered.

"No way, Billy," he replied, and hung up. There'd be hell to pay for that later, but he wasn't wasting another minute. He was going to find Amanda.

He pulled up and parked a few houses down from the house Lana had indicated. By all appearances, it didn't seem like the house had been lived in for decades. There was no sign of life on the streets, save for a stray dog far down the block. There were no other cars on the street.

He headed toward the house, his gun drawn, watching for any sign of life in the windows. As he neared the front porch, he tilted his head to listen to any noises coming from within, but all was quiet.

Placing a foot onto the first rickety porch step, he felt a gun barrel settle between his shoulder blades. He held up his arms, and his own gun was yanked from his hand.

"So we meet again, Scarecrow," a female voice said from behind.

He turned slowly to face Anya Demeter. "So nice to see you, Anya," he remarked with heavy sarcasm. "Where's Amanda?"

"You'll see her soon enough," Anya assured him. "Inside, Scarecrow," she said, motioning with her revolver.

He crossed the rotting planks of the wooden porch and stepped into the house. There were two men inside who also had guns, one of whom Lee thought he recognized – Sergei Gusyeva. He wasn't sure, but it almost seemed as if the man gave him a slight warning shake of the head.

Lee watched as Anya stepped into what had once been a beautiful living room in this ancient house. Now the air smelled of mold and mildew, and the wallpaper was darkened with age, peeling in ugly strips from the wall to reveal a garish burgundy paint underneath.

"What's your game, Anya?" Lee asked, noting a clock on the wall. He was aware that it would take at least twenty minutes for the backup team to arrive.

"Oh, this game is called revenge, Scarecrow," she said, her voice dangerously low. "Tit for tat, eye for eye."

He clenched his jaw. "All this just to shoot me? Why the dramatics?"

"It's not you I plan to shoot, Scarecrow," she replied. "It's your pretty little partner. She'll die, and that will be your penance for killing Dmitri."

Lee narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood run cold and boil simultaneously. "You leave Amanda out of this. She's not even an agent," he ground out, his jaw clenched.

"Ah, but she means something to you," Anya insisted, "or you would not be so upset over the threat of losing her."

Lee wondered vaguely how she knew about Amanda at all, but he realized he already knew the answer to that question. How long had Anya and her henchmen been spying on Amanda? They would have seen his frequent trips to her house, seen him with Amanda on several occasions.

He couldn't let this happen; he refused to be responsible for the death of a woman who had two small sons to care for. Knowing it wouldn't pull any weight with Anya, he tried nonetheless. "Look. She has two small boys, Phillip and Jamie. They're great kids, and they need their mother. She has a mother of her own. Amanda's innocent and she had nothing to do with Dmitri's death. You know that."

Anya chuckled. "I'll be sure to let Mrs. King know how valiantly you tried to save her from her fate. It'll be a comfort to her as she lies dying in a puddle of her own blood."

To Sergei, she said, "Bind his hands, tightly."

The man advanced on him, doing Anya's bidding. He didn't look Lee in the eye, but Lee was sure now that he was Sergei Gusyeva. Lee felt his hands being tied with a length of rope. For a second he considered attacking the man before he was bound too tightly, but something told him to wait; Anya still held a gun on him.

Yuri came over and roughly shoved Lee down the hall. "Let's go," he ordered.

Anya and Sergei followed. "I hope you're ready to see your friend, Scarecrow," Anya purred. "I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."

Yuri stopped Lee outside a closed door and waited for Anya's order. She approached Lee and ran her fingers up his chest to his face. Then she slapped him hard, twice. There was fury in her eyes, as well as unshed tears.

"Anya," he said, "Dmitri was about to kill my partner, Dorothy. I had no choice but to shoot him. I didn't mean to kill him, just wound him, but he charged me when he saw the gun aimed in his direction. Don't you remember how he treated you? I think your memory of him is a bit blurry."

"Shut up!" she shouted. "We're at the end of the game now; there's no going back. I owe this to Dmitri. Sergei, open the door!"

He obeyed and Lee felt himself shoved forward into a tiny room with a dismal looking cot. He didn't see Amanda at first, but as he glanced around the room, he saw her in the far corner, slumped against the wall. She appeared to have shrunk; her clothes and hair were plastered to her body. It looked like she was unconscious; she hadn't stirred when they entered the room.

"What've you done to her?" he demanded.

Anya appeared to be nonplussed. "She must have had a stronger reaction to the poison than I anticipated, unless she is also allergic," she said.

Sergei started visibly. "Poison?" he questioned faintly.

Lee shot him a questioning look, but again came the imperceptible shaking of his head.

Anya didn't notice; she was focused on Amanda. "The poison I put in her food was only supposed to make her suffer, not kill her. She was to have been alert and conscious when I killed her before your eyes."

"Sergei," she said, "Pick her up and place her on the cot," she ordered.

Sergei did as she demanded, and it seemed to Lee that he treated Amanda with extreme gentleness for a man who was involved in a murder plot. He laid her on the cot and turned back to Anya, awaiting her next order.

Lee had been working at the knots that bound his wrists and had found them to be quite loose. Sergei had left them that way on purpose, he was sure of it.

Anya advanced to Amanda's side and picked up her limp arm, feeling for a pulse. Dropping the arm unceremoniously, she placed two fingers against Amanda's neck. Cursing softly, she dropped to her knees, mumbling to herself. "Not like this," she said over and over.

Lee dropped the rope that had bound his wrists. Sergei quickly maneuvered with his right elbow, catching Yuri square in the jaw. The man sagged noiselessly and Sergei caught him, nodding to Lee as he handed him his gun.

Ignoring the fear that Amanda was dead, Lee crossed the small room and pointed the barrel of the gun against Anya's skull. "Don't move," he said, with deadly calm.

She froze, taking her hands off Amanda.

Sergei, who had propped Yuri in a chair, walked over to the bereft woman and helped her up. As he tied her wrists behind her back as he'd done Lee's, she turned hateful eyes upon Lee. He vaguely registered the fact that Agency vehicles were pulling up outside the house.

"I wanted to kill her while you watched," Anya hissed.

Two agents entered the room and Lee quickly advised them what was going on. "Call an ambulance," Lee told one of them grimly.

He rushed over to Amanda, dropping to his knees. Her pallor worried him; she was ashen. As Anya had done, he felt first her wrist, then her neck for a pulse. If there was one, it was too weak to be detected. Leaning down closer to her face, he was relieved to feel breath exiting her nostrils. It was faint, but it was there.

He realized that Sergei was still in the room, though the two agents had returned and dragged Yuri off. Lee stood and faced the man.

"I'm sorry, Stetson," Sergei said. "I didn't know Anya was poisoning Amanda, or I would have prevented it. I also would not have given her a drug to slow her pulse and make her breathing shallow. The interaction of two such--"

Lee shook his head in disbelief. "Why would you do that, anyway?" he asked, turning from Amanda for a moment to stare at the man.

"For exactly the way things happened, my friend," he explained. "To foil Anya's plan to shoot Amanda in front of your eyes. I only took the job so that I could protect Mrs. King . . . I owed you that much after you saved my daughter's life two years ago. I figured . . . giving her the drug was less of a risk than trying to stop Anya from shooting her."

Lee nodded his understanding and patting Sergei on the arm. "I just hope she'll be okay," he said, and turned back to Amanda. Kneeling once again, he gently said her name but she didn't stir.

"Where are the damned paramedics?"

They arrived five minutes later. Sergei was in the living room being interrogated by the two agents and Billy, who had arrived shortly before the paramedics. Lee followed as they removed Amanda on a stretcher.

He stopped long enough to whisper to Billy to go easy on Sergei and that he would explain further later. Billy merely nodded, casting a worried glance in Amanda's direction. "I hope Mrs. King will be all right. You're going to the hospital, I assume."

Lee nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear how she is."

"Go, then," Billy admonished.

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Pacing in the waiting room, Lee threw an irritated glance at the overly-cheerful desk clerk. Her chipper mood was grating on his nerves. Not to mention that fact that every time he asked her about Amanda, she claimed to have no information whatsoever.

Finally the doctor attending to Amanda came out to speak with Lee. "She's resting comfortably and we're keeping an eye on her. She should be okay by tomorrow. I suggest you go home and get some sleep yourself," he had said.

Lee nodded. "You'll call me, if there's any change in her condition."

"Of course."

Before leaving the hospital, Lee found a payphone and dialed Billy's direct line. He briefed his boss on Amanda's condition.

Billy said, "I thought you might want to know that Anya Demeter committed suicide before we could even talk to her; she must have had a concealed cyanide capsule. Sergei is being questioned but will most likely be sent home to Russia; ordinarily we would have charged him for outstanding offenses, but since he acted in Mrs. King's best interests . . . or since that was his intention, we're going easy on him as you requested. Yuri is trying to claim he was with Sergei all along."

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He hesitated outside her door; he had arrived early at the hospital and been told that some time during the night, she had regained consciousness and was doing better, although in a significant amount of pain and slightly disoriented.

He hoped she didn't have amnesia again; if he walked in and she stared at him blankly and clutched the sheet around her neck – no, he couldn't deal with that again. Once was enough!

Taking a deep breath, he entered the room, holding the bouquet of cheerful daisies. He was glad she was in a private room, for her sake. He'd been poisoned before and knew what an ordeal it was to recover.

She was sleeping, hooked up only to an IV now. She lay on her side and he could see that her color was returning. He moved closer and set the flowers on the window sill so she could enjoy them when she woke up.

She opened her eyes when he turned back around. "Lee . . ." she whispered, her voice raspy. The single word was followed by a fit of coughing. He quickly poured her some water and helped her drink it.

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled, unable relieved to see her alert. "How are you?"

"I feel like a bus rolled over me," she said weakly. She seemed so serious; she hadn't even smiled at him yet. Did she blame him for what had happened?

"You'll feel better by tomorrow," he said. "You just need to rest and drink plenty of water and listen to the doctor."

He expected her to roll her eyes or tell him he was a fine one to dispense advice on hospital etiquette, but Amanda just regarded him earnestly. "I don't understand why she chose me, Lee," she finally said. "I mean . . . she wanted to avenge her partner, but we're not even partners, you've said so yourself. And you're right. All I do is get in the way and get into trouble."

"Wait a minute," Lee began.

She shook her head. "No, I'm serious, Lee."

He took her hand and held it firmly, ignoring the fact that she turned her head away from him. "Amanda," he insisted. "This wasn't your fault. What's brought all this on, anyway?"

"You always tell me what I've done wrong, Lee. According to you, I'm always in the way, or screwing things up, or getting into trouble. I heard you tell Billy once that if he made you work with me again, you'd quit."

Guilt washed over him. "You heard that?" he asked weakly.

She nodded.

"I'm sorry. That was after a really bad day, and I was upset. Obviously it wasn't true, because I didn't quit," he offered, giving her a half-hearted grin. She didn't smile back, just continued to watch him warily.

"I wasn't crying wolf," she said suddenly, her voice defensive.

"What?"

She frowned at him. "They'd been watching me, and they took me. You said I was crying wolf. I'm sorry that nothing turned up the first time you had to come over and check things out and miss your date, but--"

"I didn't have a date," he interrupted, deciding it was time to come clean about that. "And I was . . . on my way over to see you anyway, to apologize."

Amanda seemed to think about this for a moment, then she asked, "Then what was the big deal, Lee? Why were you so upset with me?"

"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question," he joked lamely. "Honestly? I don't know. Sometimes . . . I guess I'm just not used to having to worry about someone the way I worry about you."

"I never asked you to worry about me," she stated.

Chagrined, he nodded. "I know you didn't, but . . . I can't help it."

She gave him a small smile. "Well, thank you," she said, "but if it's going to make you upset at me to worry about me, please don't bother. In fact, I was thinking about talking to Mr. Melrose. Maybe . . . maybe someone else should be assigned to work with me . . . when I'm needed on cases, that is."

He was stunned that she would say such a thing. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? "What?" he said, then shrugged. "I mean, if that's what you want . . ." he trailed off, not sure what else to say.

She shook her head. "It's not what I _want_ ."

"Amanda, I know I get upset with you. Sometimes I just don't deal well when things go wrong. But Billy likes having you around because he wants me to be more careful, and if he's going to stick me with someone. I'd . . . I'd just as soon it be you."

She rolled her eyes but then smiled. "So you don't mind being stuck?"

He shrugged again. "I'm getting used to it."

"Well, I guess I'm getting kind of used to you, too," she said.

"You know, I wonder if they could bring in a typewriter for you," he said casually, looking around the room as if serious.

"A typewriter? Why?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, my reports have been piling up, and you could make good use of your time while you're here recovering – "

She blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. "Oh, boy!" she exclaimed, looking at him incredulously.

He tested the tray where her water pitcher rested. "I bet this would work."

She opened her mouth to make a retort, but when she looked up at him, he was unable to keep the twinkle of amusement out of his eyes. He grinned at her, his dimples deepening.

Smiling back at him, she shook her head. "Very funny."


End file.
